David

David

There was one picture of David in the yellow and tattered photo album Jean found inside a box in the garage. He was a sweet-faced, blond little two-year-old boy with Downes Syndrome. Jean's parents never talked about him even though he was Jeans' older brother. David became a sad and terrible secret in the already cold, dysfunctional family. Talking about David was forbidden. 

Jeans' mother's world revolved around golf and drinking. Jean was dismissed and neglected. Her father traveled for business, and his world was his work. Although he was more approachable, when she asked about David, his entire body would change. This change looked as though a dark veil fell across him. It was frightening.

The intense and complete hatred Jean's parents felt for each other was never violent or loud. Instead, this hatred was present at every family meal. It was a daily dose of poison that infected everyone, and there was no cure.

As Jean got older, she started to suspect the secrets revolving around David were somehow connected to the intense loathing her parents displayed for one another. At night when she said her prayers, she pleaded with God to make them get a divorce. Her only real connection with happiness and childhood was her younger sister, Laura.

Many years passed, and her parents finally divorced after they were out of ideas about hurting one another. They both remarried.

One hot summer evening after a visit with her father and his new wife, Jean asked him one last time about David. Even though he was almost ninety years old, Jeans' father forcefully rose from his chair, put his gnarled hands on the table, and leaned into her. Then, in a controlled, practically diabolic tone, he said she didn't deserve to know. 

Jean sat there at his table and cried. She was so tired of not knowing. Finally, and without any apology, he suggested Jean go back to her hotel.

When her father died, Jean gathered his personal belongings from his little room at the nursing home. She saw his tattered, worn, locked briefcase. She took it home but never looked inside and just stored it unopened until she was packing to move out of state a year later.

Looking at the small briefcase, she remembered her father seldom let it out of his sight when he was alive. She had no idea what was inside. Jean broke the rusted lock without much difficulty and looked. It held the parts of his life that were the most important to him. There were letters of commendation from his time as an officer in the army, a letter from his commanding officer in the military, and David's death certificate. This was the document that held her attention. There was no mistake. Jean stared at the document she was holding in her shaking hands. She read it over and over in disbelief. For sixty years, Jean had searched, and now, she had found answers about her brother.

David died from dehydration and diarrhea at Pacific Colony Asylum in California. The actual diagnosis was Marasmus, a chronic condition of undernourishment, occurring primarily in children and usually caused by a diet deficient in calories and protein. He was four years old. Jean called her sister Laura and told her what she had found. Laura asked Jean to read aloud, word for word, what the cause of death was. As an RN, Jeans' sister understood the medical information. There was an audible gasp from Laura and terrible long silence. Jean knew this must be more horrible than they could have imagined. She told Jean his death was not only a tragedy, but it was also a crime. David died from neglect because he was in a hospital facility. He was only there, out of state, for three months. So there was absolutely no excuse.

As they talked, they both started crying deep heavy sobs. All Jean could think of was a little boy, dying hungry, wasting away, alone. It was more pain and confusion than she was prepared to address. This was the secret; this was the awful, horrid truth.

Although they were both devastated, Jean's sister was livid. Laura roared with anger. She moaned her outrage. With pointed, pent-up fury, she said, "I hate them! I hate them both! They are both responsible".

Later that same evening, Jean went to her computer and typed in the facility's name where David died. To her additional horror, Pacific Colony was now called "The Mangler Asylum." The facility had a long history of severe problems and was shut down several times on a litany of charges. There was documentation of poor sanitation and very little freshwater. At one point, a patient went on a killing spree and killed forty people. For years, unexplained, dead, mangled bodies parts were found around the grounds of the facility. The stories have morphed into an urban legend, complete with people looking for gore and the occult stories. 

So this is where David died. No amount of information could change the truth. Since her parents were dead, Jean and her sister would never know why he was put into the hands of the asylum. How could anyone let their child die like this? 

Jean spent several weeks and months trying to make peace with this information, but she could not. Not even the rationale that Down's syndrome was not understood when David was alive could help Jean find any understanding. She wasn't willing to give a forgiving pass to her parents. She believed they could have just as easily disposed of her also. This was how deep the pain was. Laura was also tormented and continued to dream about David.

As the months turned into years, the pain became a little shadow on her heart. Jean knows now where and how David died, but she will never know why. That secret is buried with him in his little grave with the lamb and dove on the headstone. She kisses his headstone and prays he is somewhere where he feels loved. Jean whispered out loud, "I love you, David. This is your story."